


The Lord is My Shepherd

by Kroki_Refur



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-08
Updated: 2007-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27660194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kroki_Refur/pseuds/Kroki_Refur
Summary: Tag to 3x01. Dean's always known exactly what he wants.
Kudos: 5





	The Lord is My Shepherd

When Dean realises he doesn’t want to die, he’s lying on a stained mattress in a motel room that smells of stale cigarettes, and it’s already too late.  
  
He feels like the realisation should have hit him like a freight train, or whatever it is that shit like that is always compared to. You know, the kind of realisation that feels like it ought to leave you in bloody pieces all over the highway, only of course it doesn’t, because even in Dean’s world, where stray thoughts can get you into a whole big mess of trouble, they can’t usually rip you to shreds. This one, though, this is nothing like a freight train, not even like one of those fucking miniature toy steam train things they have at parks; this is like something inside him shifting slightly and clicking into place, and Dean stares at the ceiling and wonders why he never thought of it before.  
  
The next morning is sunny and quiet, and Sam brings him coffee and offers to drive him to the nearest bar that evening so he can get as drunk as he likes, but his smile is strained around the edges, and Dean sees three hundred and sixty-four days stretching out ahead of him like it’s less than the time between one heart-beat and the next, and all he can think is _I don’t want to die_.  
  
\----  
  
The house is full of echoes, even though the noises themselves are long gone. Dean’ll be gone soon, too, but he thinks maybe this house will never be still again, peeling wallpaper and rusting pipes vibrating with the ghosts of a family breaking apart. He’s the only one there, now, and for all an hour ago he wished Dad and Sam would just _shut up_ , now he’s beginning to think if he has to deal with the quiet for five more minutes he’s gonna start screaming himself just to drown it out. Sam’s bus isn’t until tomorrow, he knows that—Sam’s got a hell of a lot to learn about keeping secrets—but he’s gone anyway, walked out the door five minutes after Dad told him that if he did it was a one-way ticket, _stupid_ stubborn _asshole_ , and Dad slammed out ten minutes after, but Dean knows he didn’t go to find Sam, because if Sam’s a stubborn asshole, then he learned from the best.  
  
Dean sits at the rickety table in the back kitchen. It’s getting dark outside, but it’s always gloomy in here, the windows thick with grime. Dean has no idea how long it is since people lived in this house, _real_ people, not squatters or hunters, people who paid a mortgage and walked the dog and drove their kids to college when it was time for them to go, and suddenly he can picture them, moving around the kitchen, laughing, arguing, whatever the hell it is that real people _do_.   
  
He’s half-way across the front yard when Dad’s voice stops him and he turns, suddenly aware of what he’s doing, aware that there’s a duffle on his shoulder and it’s gotta be obvious where he’s going.  
  
“Dad,” he says, he’s not prepared, he hasn’t thought his way through this, but he needs to say _something_ , “we can’t just let Sammy go off on his own, it’s not safe. I want--”  
  
“Dean,” Dad interrupts, “Sam’s made his bed. He chose to abandon this family. Is that what you want, too? You want to betray my trust in you?”  
  
Dean’s left with his mouth hanging open, because of course he doesn’t, that’s not what he wants at _all_ , but taking care of Sam has always been his job, his most important duty, and how can he do that if Sam’s on the other side of the country?  
  
“Dean.” Dad leans forward, but Dean can’t see his expression in the twilight. “You want what’s best for this family, don’t you?”  
  
Dean swallows and stands up straight, letting his duffle slip to the ground. “Yes sir.” That’s what he wants, and if that’s what this is, then he’ll want this, too.  
  
\----  
  
Dean chews with his mouth open, making sure to make as many appreciative noises as he can, and flips through the movie magazine Sam brought back from the store for him without bothering to wipe off his fingers. He figures if he tries hard enough, he can manage to get grease on just about everything Sam owns. He swallows, then belches appreciatively.  
  
“Dude,” says Sam, and Dean looks up and grins.  
  
“What?” he says.  
  
Sam stares at him for a long moment, chewing his lip, and Dean watches the emotions chasing each other across Sam’s face—disgust, irritation, worry, fear. “Nothing,” he says finally, and hunches back over the book he’s been studying all morning. Dean doesn’t know what book it is, but he figures it’s probably got the word _demon_ somewhere in the title.  
  
“Whatever,” he says.  
  
That night, Dean leaves a half-eaten burger on Sam’s pillow, accidentally rips his favourite shirt, and gets steaming drunk and pukes on Sam’s shoes. Sam puts him to bed without a word, but Dean hears _you’re going to die_.  
  
\----  
  
Dean falls in love for the first time when he’s thirteen years old. The girl’s name is Jennifer, and she’s got the body of a goddess, or at least, she does as far as Dean can judge, which, given that he’s thirteen and horny, is not very far at all. She likes him too, he thinks, lets him walk her home from school a couple times and then, one day in October, kisses him full on the mouth and then runs off, laughing and waving.  
  
Dean walks home feeling pretty much like he’s the most awesome guy ever to have lived, because damn, OK, a couple of the guys at school are all about having got to second base or whatever, but Dean’s pretty sure they’re full of shit, and even if they aren’t, there’s no way whatever chicks they scored with are as hot as Jennifer. Jesus, even her name almost makes him come in his pants (and OK, maybe sometimes a slight breeze almost makes him come in his pants, but who’s counting, right?)  
  
When he gets home, Dad is stone-faced in the parking lot, packing their gear into the Impala, and Dean thinks this is pretty much the worst timing ever.  
  
“Dad,” he says, and Dad looks up.  
  
“Get your brother,” he says. “We’re leaving in ten.”  
  
Dean swallows, starts to turn away, but he can almost still feel Jennifer’s lips pressed against his. “Do we really have to--” he starts, and Dad slams the trunk shut.  
  
“Goddammit, Dean,” he says. “I already put up with this whining from Sam, now I gotta deal with it from you, too? I thought you more responsible than that.”  
  
Dean shuts his mouth and heads for the motel room. Sam is hunched in a corner wearing an expression that makes him look ten years older than he is, and he doesn’t look at Dean when he comes in.  
  
“I’m not leaving,” he says. “I’m tired of always leaving, Dean. I don’t want to do it any more.”  
  
Dean crouches down in front of his brother. “Come on, dude,” he says. “This shitty town sucks anyway. What, you want us to be stuck in suburban hell for ever?”  
  
Sam mutters something that Dean can’t hear, then looks up through wet eyelashes. “You don’t want to leave either,” he says accusingly.  
  
Dean thinks of Jennifer and wonders what it would be like to kiss her again, then pushes the thought firmly out of his mind. “Sure I do,” he says. “I’m bored out of my mind, here.”  
  
Sam throws him a mutinous look, then sniffles and starts to pick himself up off the floor. Dean brushes a hand across the back of his brother’s neck and makes himself grin until it starts to feel natural. Dad needs him to want to leave, and he can do that.  
  
He can do that.  
  
\----  
  
Dean wakes up in a cold sweat, and it’s like she’s right there beside him again, pushing up against him until he feels like crawling out of his skin, _if you try to welsh or weasel your way out, then the deal is off—Sam drops dead, and he’s back to rotting meat in no time_. “Shit,” he mutters, and Sam shifts in the other bed and mumbles something in his sleep.  
  
Dean doesn’t sleep any more that night. He doesn’t want to die, God, that’s not what he wants at all. But there are some things that he wants even less.  
  
\----  
  
For a week afterwards, Dean sees them everywhere he goes. He’ll walk past a shop window and see a reflection of Carmen, or turn a corner and think he sees Sam and Jess laughing together on a park bench. He dreams of his mother’s voice and wakes up sweating and shaking, and if he sometimes wishes he’d just stayed in the damn fantasy world, well, he’s only half awake, so he can’t be blamed.  
  
When he’s completely awake, he realises how dumb it is. Obviously, yeah, he wants Mom and Jess to be alive, but the rest of it? Mowing the lawn and taking out the garbage and holding down a steady job? Dean doesn’t want that, he’s _never_ wanted that. OK, yeah, maybe a couple of times when he was kid he thought about it, but he realised pretty soon that that wasn’t what he wanted. He wants to hunt. He wants to avenge Mom’s death. He wants a life of excitement and adventure, and he has no clue what Sammy sees in all that nine-to-five crap. Dean knows exactly what he wants, and if his subconscious is playing tricks on him, well, that’s because his subconscious is a little bitch, and Dean’s not about to take this crap any more seriously than he does his dreams about giant purple lizards from space.  
  
Yeah, Dean knows exactly what he wants, just like he always has.  
  
\----  
  
It’s four days since the gates of hell opened, and there’s still been no word, and when Sam offers to let Dean have the motel room to himself _for, you know, whatever you might want to do_ , Dean takes him up on it. Sam slouches out the door, books tucked under his arm, and Dean watches him go and thinks about how he looked when he was dead, how it felt to talk to him and have no-one answer back.  
  
Dean’s got three hundred and sixty-two days left to live. He doesn’t want to die, but there are some things he wants even less, and there’s no way out this time, no choice at all.  
  
Sometime about an hour after Sam leaves, something shifts and clicks into place in Dean, and he realises he wants Sam to save him, he wants Sam to find a way to break the deal because he doesn’t want to die. He thinks about how Sam looked when he was dead, how it felt to talk to him and have no-one answer back, and he clenches his jaw and forces the thought away.  
  
Two hours later, he unlocks the door to the room and pushes it wide, letting the blonde girl whose name he can’t quite remember stumble through in a cloud of perfume and giggles, and makes himself grin until it feels natural. He’s got three hundred and sixty-two days to live, and that’s more than enough time to have a little fun.  
  
\----  
  
“Hey, sport,” says Dad, and Dean holds his arms up and tries to reach as high as he can. Dad grabs him and swings him around, and Dean giggles, his tummy swooping, and feels like he’s Superman.  
  
Mommy puts down her book and smiles. “Don’t get him too excited,” she says. “Bed in a few minutes.”  
  
“Aw,” says Dean, because he’s old enough now to stay up late, he’s a big boy. “I don’t wanna!”  
  
“Too bad, kiddo,” says Dad, setting him down on his feet again. “Just cos you want something, doesn’t mean you’re gonna get it.”  
  
Dean sticks out his bottom lip. “Even for Christmas?” he asks. Christmas is two weeks away, and Dean thinks he remembers Mommy saying it happens every year, but he’s definitely more than a year old and he doesn’t remember having a Christmas before, so maybe he’s wrong. Anyway, he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to get what he wants at Christmas.  
  
“Well, maybe not then,” Dad says, and Dean grins.  
  
“Can I have anything I want?” he asks. Two weeks is a _really long_ time, but he thinks it’s important to tell Mommy and Dad what he wants now so they don’t get it wrong.  
  
“Well, that depends on what you want,” says Mommy, and picks Dean up, moving towards the stairs. Dean rests his foot against the swell of her stomach where Sammy lives, closes his eyes, and thinks real hard about what he wants.  
  
“OK, Deano, you decided yet?” asks Dad. “You want a toy airplane, maybe?”  
  
Dean watches his bare foot against Mommy’s tummy and wonders when Sammy’s going to come out, and whether it’ll be in time for Christmas. “Yeah,” he says, “that’s what I want.”  
  
\----  
  
Sam is a pissy bitch for three days after the thing with the demons, and Dean has to put up with the silent treatment and angry sighs and near-constant eyerolling, but hey, that was pretty much par for the course until a week ago, so Dean figures he can handle it. Thing is, though, he knows Sam’s still looking for a way to break the deal, which is _stupid_ , is what it is, plus, totally hypocritical when Sam’s all like _you’ve got a death-wish, blah blah blah_. On the third day, Dean burns Sam’s books when he’s out getting food. When Sam comes back, he punches Dean pretty damn hard in the face and then stalks out to the field behind the motel. Dean watches most of _Dawn of the Dead_ on the crappy TV, but he knows the ending anyway and he could do with a little fresh air, so he goes for a walk.  
  
Sam is a hulking dark shape at the far side of the field. The moon’s huge and red, riding low above the trees, and Dean stops to admire it, and if that means he’s standing right by Sam, well, it’s not his fault Sam picked the best damn vantage point, now, is it?  
  
“I don’t believe it,” says Sam after Dean’s been standing there long enough to think that admiring the moon really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  
  
“You’re gonna have to narrow it down for me, there, sparky,” says Dean, glancing sideways at the darker piece of night that’s Sam.  
  
“I don’t believe you want to die,” says Sam, soft, but not so soft that Dean doesn’t hear. “I just don’t believe it, Dean.”  
  
“Yeah, well,” says Dean. “Looks like you’re not as psychic as all that, after all.”  
  
Sam doesn’t answer, and after a while, Dean gives up and goes back inside. He can do without Sam’s emo bitchfit, anyway; _Day of the Dead_ is halfway through, and he figures three hundred and fifty-six days is plenty enough time to watch the whole trilogy a few more times, which is awesome. Sam’s alive, and sure, Dean’s gonna die, but he’s pretty OK with that, wants it even. Sam may not believe it, but Dean knows exactly what he wants.  
  
Just like he always has.


End file.
